Dragon Bound

FIFTEEN

The attack happened without warning, just as Rune said it might. One minute she was immersed in the move/countermove of her match against Rune, mind racing to strategize against his flow of intent. He’d gotten her down on the mat. Not good. It meant he was more likely to pin her. She had to get out from underneath him fast, or between him and Constantine she was done.

Then his weight vanished.

Thrown off balance, she tumbled onto her back. She gasped to catch her breath and tried to make sense of what was happening.

Constantine lay sprawled against a wall. He spat blood, rolled over and got a knee underneath him.

Bayne shoved people toward the door. “Out. Everybody out.”

Graydon knelt, slipped an arm around her and lifted her to a sitting position. He had gone pale. “You okay, cupcake?”

She said, “What happened?”

He wasn’t paying attention. She followed the direction of his gaze.

Dragos had Rune pinned to the wall, one hand at his throat. Rune held still in the larger male’s grip, arms lax and hands held open. His alert gaze was fixed on Dragos while his face darkened.

Constantine got to his hands and knees and coughed. “He’s killing him.”

Pia found her feet, avoided Graydon, who tried to grab her, and leaped forward.

There was nothing rational in Dragos. The dragon looked out of his eyes. He had partially shifted. The lines of his body and face were monstrous, all wrong. Talons dug into Rune’s neck. Blood trickled from the punctures.

She didn’t pause, didn’t think. She eased up to Dragos and touched him on the shoulder to signal her presence. She stroked his arm as she slid under it, insinuating her body between the two men. She put her hands to that alien, deadly face and stroked his cheeks.

His Power was an inferno. She tried something she’d never done before and brushed her own cooler, gentler energy against his.

“Hey there,” she said. Gentle, soothing. She took a deep, slow, controlled breath. “Dragos, I want you to look at me now, please. I forgot to tell you about the earlier part of my day yesterday. I sent my personal shopper to feed New York. The state, you know, not the city. So you’re going to get a really big grocery bill soon. Sorry about that except, well, I guess I’m not.”

The dragon blinked. He looked at her. She had never seen anything so magnificent.

She smiled up at him and smoothed his inky hair as she kept up the soft patter. “Come to think of it, I bet you’re going to get lots of grocery bills. I can’t imagine Stanford will be able to get so much food from just one supplier. Stanford is the shopper. He’s a Wyr-mink. And my new robe is beautiful. It’s black satin, very soft and elegant. I wore it this morning and thought of you when I took a shower.” She put a hand on the rigid muscles of his arm as she leaned against his chest. “Come down off the ledge now. Let go of your friend. You like him. You’re going to remember that soon and then you’ll be upset if you’ve damaged him. Besides, I want you to give me a kiss, so I can thank you properly for the robe—and for the potion you left on your pillow this morning. They were very thoughtful of you.”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed. His Power shifted to wrap an invisible cloak of warmth around her.

“I’m still not right in the head,” she whispered to him. Sexuality flared in those gold raptor’s eyes. She slipped the tip of her finger between his lips and rubbed the inside of one thigh along his leg. “Come on, big guy, you know you want to.”

He slid an arm around her, took hold of her chin with those long bloody talons and tilted her head up with exquisite care. She rose up on her toes, closed her eyes and lifted her face to him in total trust. His hard mouth brushed against hers.

She could feel the quick movement at her back as Graydon pulled Rune from them. The gryphon gagged and coughed. Then the rest of the world fell away as Dragos deepened their kiss. She slid her arms around his neck. She felt his body shift and flow back into more familiar contours.

He slid his mouth along the curve of her cheek, down to her collarbone, and he buried his face into her neck.

Her gaze slid sideways. The sober gryphons had arranged themselves around the area. Bayne leaned back against a wall near Constantine, who sat on the floor with a bottle of water. Rune was farther away, near the free weights, as he blotted his neck with a towel. The puncture wounds were already healing.

Graydon stood not three feet from them, arms crossed, watching her with an anxious expression. Okay, so that was maybe a little too close when she was busy getting lost in Dragos’s kiss. She shooed him with her fingers.

He shook his head. Then he mouthed, “What the fuck?”

She rounded her eyes, mouthing back, “I dunno.” She shooed him again.

The gryphon was stubborn as a mule. He cleared his throat and said aloud, “Boss, you gotta know we would never hurt her. We were just going through some self-defense maneuvers. She turned out to be so damn good we started to have some fun, that’s all.”

Dragos lifted his head. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer as he turned away from the gryphons, putting his body between her and them.

Realization dawned. He wasn’t being protective. He had almost killed his First because he was jealous.

She planted her hands on his chest and shoved. He let his hold loosen. She glared up at him, but when she saw the strain on his dark face her quick flare of anger died. Maybe she didn’t understand what was going on. Maybe she would never understand.

She drooped. “Is there anything more I can do?”

“I need to talk to my men,” he said.

She bent her head and nodded. She looked around the empty gym. “Okay. I’d like to take a shower.”

He let her go. “We’ll all go upstairs.”

As he spoke to his men, she turned toward the doors.

A tall powerful woman stood in the hall, looking in on them. Armed and dressed in leather, she had a strange beauty, with lean muscles, tangled black hair and stormy gray eyes. It took Pia a moment to recognize her. She was one of the sentinels from the Tower rooftop. Aryal, the harpy.

The woman turned away as she watched, but not before Pia looked upon the merciless gaze and cold white face of judgment.

Pia, Dragos and the four gryphons went up to the penthouse. Pia took the Saks box from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom without a word. A few moments later the shower started.

The gryphons raided the wet bar for bottles of Heineken. Dragos opened up the French doors. He stood in the doorway as a sharp breeze gusted in. The fresh air was brisk and calming.

Rune joined him and stood casual and relaxed, hands on his hips as he too looked out over the city.

He said to his First in a quiet voice, “I owe you an apology.”

The gryphon searched his face. “It’s all right, my lord. I can imagine how things must have looked. You’d already warned us to take care with her.”

“No,” he said. “It is not all right. It’s clear I am not in control. I am well aware that I am not acting or thinking normally or even rationally.”

Rune’s gaze was keen, perhaps more keen than he was comfortable with. “Dragos,” he said, “we’ve all seen Wyr acting this way before, you know. We’ve just never seen you acting this way.”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, think about it,” said the gryphon, a smile creasing his tanned face. “When have you seen Wyr acting too jealous, possessive and obsessed? When have their tempers become too volatile? Too irrational?”

His mouth twisted. “I’ve always been bad-tempered.”

“Well, yeah, you can be one crabby son of a bitch, especially when things don’t go your way. But you know, when you lose your temper you have a reason. There is a reason for all this too.”

His thoughts twisted and turned. He considered the drama that played out when Wyr passions ran hot. “You think I’m mating.”

His First shrugged. “The possibility occurred to me. There’s also a lot going on right now. You’ve been under considerable strain. It’s rare when you’ve been in real danger of being killed.”

He took a deep breath and nodded.

Mating. Hmm.

He was a solitary creature by nature. He might interact with others, but inside he had always been alone. He counteracted the stresses of constant socialization in modern life by escaping for regular long flights where he could lose himself in wind and sunlight.

That was the juxtaposition that perplexed him. Instead of feeling relief at escaping Pia’s presence earlier today when he had left her sleeping in his bed, he had felt her absence as a loss.

He had . . . missed her.

“I guess I’ve got a lot to think about,” he said. The irony of that statement occurred to him, coming so soon as it did after his annoyance at it being Pia’s favorite refrain. He rubbed his chin and started to pace around the large room. “Just—don’t any of you touch her right now. Not until I figure this out.”

Rune strolled to join the others on the couches around the fireplace and accepted the bottle of lager that Bayne offered. He said, “Understood. Unless, of course, her life depends on it.”

He explored the strange landscape inside himself for a moment and nodded in agreement. He changed the subject. “Still no lock on Urien’s location,” he told them. “Whatever Goblins that might have survived have scattered. The mayor’s whining, the governor of Illinois is trying to tunnel up my ass, the Elves are being manipulative, and . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “She didn’t say she’s feeding the state, did she?”

Graydon rubbed his face, covered his mouth with a hand and said, muffled, “Ayup.”

Rune and the others weren’t so circumspect. They shouted in laughter at his expression. Rune explained, “She asked the shopper to stock up all the food banks in the state. To be honest, I think the credit card freaked her out a bit. Maybe she’s more of a flowers-and-candy kind of female.”

As he scowled, Graydon added, “She liked the robe, though. Said it was real nice.”

“Whatever,” he said, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand. “I think it’s pretty clear to everyone I can’t be around too many people right now or I really might tear somebody’s throat out.”

Bayne grunted. “It is pretty tough to apologize after the conversation degenerates to that point.”

He gave them a grim smile. He finished one circuit of the room and started another. “Another day like today isn’t going to happen. We’re going to start selling off some of the businesses and get life more simplified.”

“Maybe it would be a good idea to go upstate to Carthage for a few weeks instead,” said Constantine in a cautious voice. He referred to Dragos’s 250-acre country estate in northern New York. “You know, take some afternoons and fly out over the Adirondacks, figure out what you really want to do, let stuff settle in your head?”

“Going upstate for a while isn’t a bad idea, he said. “But I’m settled on a few things right now. Aside from the fact that Urien’s got to die, I want to downsize my life and get rid of some of the white noise. And while we’re at it, I want you guys to help me figure out what to do with all the crap I’ve got crammed underneath the subway.”

Under the cover of the shower, Pia sat on the bench with her head in her hands. A backlash from fear and adrenaline hit, and she cried until her throat hurt and her nose was clogged and she couldn’t cry anymore.

The last couple of days had been so full of extremes, she felt like she was suffering from some kind of psychic whiplash. Everything was strange, full of hidden currents and nuances, with bouts of intense joy and sudden sharp spikes in anxiety and isolation. Reality had become a kaleidoscope that kept breaking up and re-forming.

For a while when the shit had hit the fan, Dragos had been her center, her one stable point. Odd, but she had been okay with all the danger and uncertainty that surrounded them. Here Dragos was part of everything else—unpredictable and unknown.

She had moments of clarity when she felt she was connected to him in a way that went deeper than either of them comprehended. She felt like she understood him better than he understood himself.

Then all the certainty slid away and she was left clutching at air. When that happened, she felt fractured inside. Maybe she was the kaleidoscope, breaking and re-forming. Maybe she was part of everything else that was unpredictable and unknown.

He was beyond splendid. He made her breath catch and her heart race, her temper flare and her sense of humor sharpen. He had her sexuality dancing for joy.

He wanted her to trust him, but how could she trust someone she didn’t understand?

How could she love someone who admitted he didn’t even know what love was, who claimed her as his possession, and who was capable of almost killing his oldest, most trusted ally and friend?

Wait a minute. She didn’t just think that, did she?

Well, it wasn’t true. She was suffering from a supersized value meal of Stockholm syndrome. She would admit to having a mouthwatering crazy going-on for him. Heh, not like she could deny that at this late stage. But she would not admit to the L word.

Oh God.

She wanted to go home, but she didn’t have a home. Her apartment wasn’t hers anymore. It might be let to someone else already. Even if it wasn’t, she was afraid that if she were able to step back inside that space, she would find it was cramped and too small and just as alien as everything else had become in her life.

The shower stall opened. She started and shrank back, covering her breasts in a reflexive gesture, as Dragos stepped in fully clothed.

He knelt in front of her, gripping the bench on either side of her thighs. The severe lines of his face and muscled body were drenched in moments, the gold of his eyes shadowed. She plucked at the collar of his soaked T-shirt and sighed. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve been crying again,” he said. “Why?”

She chuckled, a small, hollow sound. “Hard day, I guess.”

“Don’t deflect,” he said. “Tell me why.”

“What if I don’t want to,” she snapped.

“Tough,” he told her. He took hold of her shoulders and drew her into his arms. “You have to tell me so I can learn not to do whatever it is I did.”

Damn him. How could he end up saying the exact right thing just when she needed it most?

“Who said it was you? I already told you, everything’s getting to me.” She tucked her face into his neck and nuzzled, reveling in his warm, wet skin.

“Still deflecting,” he said. He reached for a bottle of herbal scented body wash, squirted some into a palm and began to massage her neck and shoulders. “You were having a good time with the gryphons. It was me.”

“We weren’t always having a good time,” she grumbled. She bit back a moan at how good his hands felt as he dug into tired muscles. “I’ve had to exert a great deal of my considerable charm on them these past few days.”

His chest moved in a silent chuckle. His fingers roamed the pale violin shape of her back, trailing suds. He paused and said in a dark tone, “You have a hell of a bruise on your shoulder.”

“Don’t even start that with me,” she said. She rubbed his back. “After all my hard work we did end up getting along pretty well today. I’ll have you know I was having a perfectly splendid time mopping the floor with them when you broke the party up.”

He pulled back and stood to strip off his sodden clothes and fling them into one corner. She stared at the sleek strong lines of his nude body and her heart started to pound. She couldn’t deal with the strength of her reaction to him right now. She averted her gaze.

He sat on the bench and picked her up. She tried to pull away. “Dragos, don’t. I can’t.”

“Hush. Trust me.”

He put her on his lap and tugged her around so that she was facing him. Then he leaned back against the wall, wrapped his arms around her, laid his head on her shoulder and just held her. She laid her head on his shoulder too, and he rocked her.

He said, “Take it off.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” She sighed, removing the dampening spell.

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her clavicle.

His erection pressed between them, but he made no sexual moves. She sniffled as warmth and comfort stole through her limbs. “And I’m such a wuss.”

“So speaks the young lady who Rune said tossed four of my toughest fighters around like throw pillows,” he said. He squirted shampoo on top of her head and lathered her hair. “I frightened you again, didn’t I?”

“No. Yes. Oh, I don’t know.” She straightened and looked at him. Water trickled down the hard planes of his face and spiked his black eyelashes. “How could you do that to him? He’s your second-in-command. You’ve known each other for . . . for far longer than I can comprehend. If you could do that to him, who else could you do it to?”

“Right now, I could do it to anyone but you.” He eased her off his lap, stood and lathered. He washed his groin and genitals. He handled his erect penis with brisk practicality, but she still had to glance away from how mouthwatering he looked. She finished rinsing her hair as he sluiced off. He turned off the shower.

She wrapped her hair in a towel and dried off with another, while Dragos rubbed a towel over his head and body. The domesticity of the scene was both bizarre and seductive. She fought against giving in to a sense of belonging. It was an illusion. She slipped on the black Dolce & Gabbana robe and saw his eyes light with approval.

“Why anybody but me?” she asked. “Why am I the only one who’s safe?”

Why can I trust you? she wanted to ask. But the strain had eased from his features and she didn’t want to disturb the peace that had crept in to take its place. She took the towel from her hair and started working a brush through the wet length.

He stood behind her, a towel slung around his hips, and took the brush from her. He smoothed out her hair as she watched him in the mirror. The wet braid at his wrist was the same darkened shade of honey.

After several moments of looking thoughtful, he said, “You don’t know much about living in Wyr society, do you?”

She shook her head.

“I forget how secluded you’ve been.” He kissed the nape of her neck. “It will all come clear in time. I promise. Just believe me when I say that not only will I never hurt you, I will protect you from anyone else who would hurt you.”

She did believe him. It fit with how he responded to her when she worked to calm him, with everything that he had said to her and with all his actions. Things settled back in their rightful places. “All right,” she said. “But how do we make sure that you don’t hurt the others then? They’re so loyal to you, Dragos.”

“I know they are. They’re good men. You’ll have to take my word that they understand what happened earlier, maybe even better than I do. We were all a bit too careless today. It won’t happen again.”

“Can you be a bit more enigmatic?” she asked. Irritation brought out the sarcasm in her like nothing else. “A few of those sentences made sense, you know. What won’t happen again?”

He smiled. “Are you hungry? Let’s have supper. It should be set up in the dining room by now.”

Once he mentioned eating, she noticed how famished she was. All of a sudden she felt hollow and shaky. “I’m starving. All I had for lunch was a salad.”

He frowned as he strode into the dressing room. “You should eat more than that. It must take a lot of lettuce and carrots to keep up any kind of normal body weight.”

“Very funny.”

He cocked his head at her. “I wasn’t aware I was making a joke.”

She followed him and picked out a sleeveless red tank top and a matching white skirt splashed with large red poinsettias. She slipped on lace panties but didn’t bother with a bra or shoes. Dragos’s eyes gleamed with approval when he saw her. He had dressed simply as well, in another white Armani silk shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and black slacks.

They walked to the dining room. Her stomach growled at the appetizing smell of roasted meat, fresh bread and garlic.

Appetizing smell . . . roasted meat . . .

A dizzying wave of nausea hit her. What the hell? She came to an abrupt stop, braced one hand on the wall and pressed the other to her stomach as saliva flooded her mouth.

Dragos whipped around. He snaked an arm around her waist. “What’s wrong?”

She held up a hand as she concentrated on deep breathing. The dizzy nausea passed after a moment. She straightened. “I’m all right.”

“You’re going back to the bedroom,” he said. His face set into harsh lines. “I’ll send for our Wyr doctor.”

“No I’m not, and no you won’t,” she told him. She tugged against his hold. He refused to let go of her. “Dragos, please. Cut it out. I’m all right. I didn’t eat much earlier today and I’m just—a whole lot hungrier than I realized. All the good smells are down that way and you want to go in the other direction? Don’t be so mean.”

He acquiesced and let go of her with obvious reluctance. She raised her hands and shrugged at him. He continued to watch her as they went to the dining room.

Two places were set at one end of the large polished mahogany table near the window, surrounded by several covered dishes. White candles were lit, and there was a bouquet of large white roses in a fluted crystal vase. The city skyline was the backdrop for the setting.

Pleasure flooded her. “How beautiful. I adore roses.”

He smiled. “Good. I hoped you would.” He held her chair for her and then sat too.

A platter of some kind of sliced roast meat was near Dragos’s elbow, along with roasted potatoes and gravy. Revolted by the sight and confused, she averted her gaze. Near her was a dish of bow-tie pasta with red peppers and broccoli in a garlic sauce topped with vegan grated “cheese” and a spinach salad topped with mango slices and pecans. Between them was a basket of white and whole grain rolls. An opened bottle of Pinot Noir sat nearby.

Her stomach gave another unsettled lurch, but she was so hungry in spite of it that she forced herself to take a bite of the pasta. The nausea disappeared like it had never been. She said, “This is delicious.”

“If you have a sweet tooth, you might want to save room for dessert,” he said. “There are strawberries dipped in dark chocolate.”

She sighed. “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Silence fell as they concentrated on their food. She felt again that sense of the bizarre, sharing such a simple domestic scene as eating supper with him. Caught in the grip of compulsive hunger, she ate like there was no tomorrow. Then it eased so she was able to think again.

Feeling tentative she asked him about his day, and she was surprised and flattered when he responded with every appearance of prompt frankness. He told her of Urien’s disappearance, their corporate conflict, the mayor, and the Elves. She bit her lip as disquiet intruded. “This isn’t going to have a quick or easy resolution, is it?”

He regarded her from under lowered brows as he took a drink of wine. “It doesn’t appear that way. It might be a good idea for us to spend some time at my country estate. Not only is it quieter and more private, it’s well defensible.”

Us. We. Her clothes in his bedroom. Sleeping in his bed. She thought of their confrontation with the Fae King on the plain and how Dragos had denied his instinct to pursue so that he could protect her.

“Dragos, what’s going on here?”

“What do you mean?”

She put down her fork. He watched her, thoughts shifting in his gold shadowed gaze. After a few moments she said, “I would like to ask you a series of questions, if I may.”

He put his fork and knife down as well and rested his elbows on the table, hands clasped loosely, steepled index fingers pressed against his mouth. “Go on.”

She began to pleat the edge of her linen napkin. “Would you be hunting Urien yourself if I weren’t here?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.

For a moment she lost her breath. Implications tried to crowd her mind. She shied away from them and focused on another question. “What happened to my apartment?”

“I presume it’s where you left it,” he said. “Why? Do you want something from it?”

She clenched her hands. “What if I wanted to leave? What if I wanted to go back there?”

“You promised you wouldn’t.” His voice was steady, ruthless.

Fair enough. She started pleating the napkin again. “What if I want my own room?”

Silence.

She forced herself to continue. “What if I want to go see my friends? What if I want to start working at my job again?”

Silence. She looked up and met the dragon’s gaze. He hadn’t changed position, but his hands had clenched. His fingers were longer and tipped with razor-sharp talons.

She wasn’t sure what emotion moved in her at the sight. He was far too dangerous a creature for pity. She did feel concern. She reached across the table, holding her hand out to him, and said in a gentle voice, “They’re just questions, big guy.”

He regarded her hand as it lay on the table, her fingers curled over an empty palm. For a moment that became more terrible than she could have imagined, she thought he was going to ignore her reaching out to him. Then those long taloned fingers wrapped with the utmost delicacy around hers.

He said without expression, “What do you want?”

Something was on the line in this undefined place they were in. She chose her words with a great deal of care. “I’m not sure, other than I would like to know my wishes matter. I don’t want to be talked about in the third person while I’m standing right there or for my life to be arranged without my consent. I would like to make sense of what we’re doing.”

“That would help both of us,” he said. Lines bracketed his mouth.

She studied him. “Five days ago, more or less—at least for us—I was in danger of my life and on the run from you. Now my clothes are in your bedroom, we’re sharing a bed and I’m worried about how I can fit in here. That’s aside from all the rest like Urien and Goblins and Elven relations. My past feels like it’s gone. I have no friends here. Tricks doesn’t count since she isn’t staying. The future has no definition, and it feels like whatever we’re doing hasn’t got any context or foundation to it.”

“You’re right, your past is gone,” he said. “You will make friends here if you want to. As far as the future is concerned or any possible context or foundation we may have, you’ve got to make some decisions. I think you’d better make them pretty fast.”

He spoke with the same direct incisiveness as he had when he told her how to negotiate the dangers of their capture by the Goblins. Instead of being put off by his attitude, a deep quiet settled into place inside. She squeezed his hand, and his fingers returned the pressure.

“All right, what kind of decisions do you think I have to make?”

“Rune thinks I may be mating with you,” he said, the dragon still looking out of his eyes. “I think he may be right.”

Mating with her. All the air left the room, and her earlier dizziness came back in full force.

She may not know much about the intricacies of living in full Wyr society, but she knew that Wyr didn’t always mate. When they did it was for life. It happened to her mother, who had bonded with a mortal man. After he had died, she had held on to life for the sake of her daughter, but when Pia was no longer quite so dependent on her she lost the will to live and faded from this world.

“Oh God.” Her face felt bloodless. “You can’t mate with me. I’m a mortal half-breed. It’ll kill you.”

“That does not appear to be a relevant factor.” He sounded composed as ever but he gripped her hand so tight she couldn’t feel her fingers. “Besides, what you are seems to be in some question. Was your mother mortal?”

“Not until she mated with my father and he died.” She rubbed her forehead. “She held on for a long time. He died before I was old enough to remember him. When I was little I didn’t know any better. But when I got old enough to take care of myself, I could feel her slipping away. She wasn’t interested in life anymore. It was a terrible thing to watch.”

“If you are able to come fully into your Wyr abilities, you will be whatever your mother was.”

“But what if I can’t?” she whispered, staring at him with horror darkening her eyes.

“It is what it is, Pia.” He looked as unafraid as ever. “Everything has an end. Even I will end one way or another. At the moment it’s beside the point. If you want to leave my bedroom or my life, you’d better decide now. I’ll do my best to try to let you go. If that is really what you need. I can’t guarantee anything. It goes against all my instincts, because you’re mine.”

His growl shook the floor.

It shook her too. She tugged at her hand and after a moment he let her go. She wrapped her arms around her middle and stared at the olive oil and bits of garlic congealing on her plate. The silence between them became weighted, sulfurous.

The quick rhythm of booted heels sounded in the hall. Graydon rounded the corner to the dining room in jeans and a Harley Davidson jacket. “Hey, boss, I got what you wanted.” He stopped and stared from Pia’s distressed face to Dragos’s darkening expression. “I’ll just come back—”

“No.” Dragos stood in a swift movement. “Give it to her and stay with her. I’m going for a flight.”

A flight, at a time like this? She looked up and said, “Dragos, no.”

His reaction was immediate. He jerked to a halt and looked at her.

“The Fae King,” she said. “He can still trace you. It’s not safe.”

She could tell it was not what he wanted to hear from her. The darkness came back to his face. He said with deliberate brutality, “I’m a lot safer on my own.”

She flinched and looked away.

Dragos looked at Graydon. “I’ll be in telepathic range.” He strode out.

“What does that even mean?” she said. “Telepathic range. Anybody I know with the ability can only speak if they’re within a few feet of each other.”

“Dragos has a range that’s more like a hundred miles,” Gray told her.

She pushed her plate setting away and put her head in her hands.

Graydon sighed and came to sit beside her.

“I’m sorry,” she said into her hands. “I know you don’t want to be here.”

“You shut that up,” he told her. “I’m fine with being here. I just think it would be better if Dragos were here instead.”

She looked at the gryphon over her fingers. He had picked up the bottle of wine and was eyeing the liquid left inside, his weathered features contemplative. The bottle was about a third full. He tilted back his head and drank it all down.

She said, “Feel better?”

“No,” he said. “That would take a bottle of scotch. Or two. Been one of those days, know what I mean?”

She nodded. Yeah, buddy, she did.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gold-wrapped package. Giving her a grimace, he put it in front of her. “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to go like this, but okay. This is from the boss.”

She stared at the slim package. “Is it going to blow up in my face, like everything else has today?”

“I dunno. It might, judging from what I just walked in on.” Graydon flattened his hands on the table and stood. “Be right back.”

She picked up the package and tore off the paper. The black case was inscribed with TIFFANY & COMPANY. The sense of the bizarre came back stronger than ever as she opened the lid.

A necklace nestled on ivory velvet, a ring of opal cabochons set in gold. The opals were bigger than the size of her thumbnails and had a multihued brilliance unlike any other opals she had ever seen. Tears prickling at the back of her nose, she set the case down and lifted out the necklace. It spilled over her fingers, the stones flashing with intense colors in the candlelight.

Graydon appeared with a bottle of scotch under one arm. He carried another opened bottle in his hand. He nodded when he saw the expression on her face and took a drink. Then he came around the corner of the table and sat by her side again. He slid the opened bottle over to her.

Johnnie Walker Blue. Alrighty. She took a healthy swig and looked at the bottle. Damn, that stuff was smooth. Cutting it with ice would just be wrong.

“A dragon just gave me a piece of jewelry,” she said. She took another swig and handed the bottle back to Graydon. “Have I been added to his hoard?”

He shook his head and drank too. “No, cupcake,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you’ve replaced it.”